


harcot and other associated scents

by WingsOfTime



Series: standalone fun pwps [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, First Time, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Oral Sex, Other, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Shadowbringers Spoilers, and doesnt identify as male, blowjob, convienent lubricant, first time with each other not in general, im sorry exarch my dude, in heat cycle but not really that kinky, marked as ''other'' because ikael is nb not because he's intersex, set post-shadowbringers, this is mostly normal p0rn im sorry it squicks me out, tw for situational non-con nothing comes out of it but i'm sure it can be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: What is a miqo'te to do when a heat comes along and he is ill-prepared? Flounder about a lot, that's what.





	harcot and other associated scents

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my latest attempt at writing s3x! once again, this is _not _in canon with ikael's main verse, and actually also not in canon with the pr0n verse! i just wanted to understand people's fascination with miqo'te and "in heat" fetishes . i didn't! but now you have this.__

This… doesn’t usually happen to Ikael. Well, alright, it happens sometimes, but… the _timing_ , that’s what it is. Damned timing.

He hasn’t had a heat for a few years, so he supposes that in hindsight, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. But… _gods_ , the _timing_. When he is on the First, really? Come on. They don’t even have vibrators here, as far as he knows.

Well, they might. He could ask Thancred.

And now suddenly the thought of _Thancred_ and _vibrators_ and Thancred… _doing things_ with vibrators… to _him_ , is suddenly in Ikael’s mind and, oh. Oh no. This is why he isn’t supposed to think about these things when he’s in heat; everything gets… twisty and confusing, and his stomach starts feeling tingly, and his...

No asking Thancred, then.

Still, he does need to make the necessary preparations, and he has ill idea of where to start. There are no miqo’te—what are they called here again?—here that he knows well enough to ask, and he feels awkward going up to a healer and inquiring about helpful herbs. Although the more he thinks about it, the more that seems like his only true option. Going to the Exarch is absolutely out of the question; the man will smell him from a malm away, and Ikael does not wish to deal with anything that meeting might entail, thank you very much. Oh, what he would give to be able to visit Y'shtola quickly and easily right now.

The damned heat isn’t letting him focus either, not when he’s unmedicated. He feels… warm all over, although not in an unpleasant way, and every glance at a passing masculine frame leads to an unwanted spiraling of thoughts that makes him blush. Why are the men’s armours here so… fitted, anyways? Has it always been like that? Ikael squirms in his seat, wondering if he can fan himself in a socially acceptable manner.

“Ikael?” Thancred calls his name once more, and Ikael glances back at him with an apologetic smile. Thancred himself is handsome as ever, of course, and Ikael has to occasionally make an effort to keep his gaze from straying from his eyes (especially when his hazy thoughts _really_ wander), but at least Thancred is wearing his coat. A small gift from the gods, mayhaps; Ikael doesn’t know what he’d do if the person whom he is spending the most time around stripped to something form-fitting.

“Ikael, hello.” Thancred is drawing his name out now. Ikael flushes lightly, embarrassed. There he goes again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, licking his lips. His mouth is dry; he needs another drink. He signals to a passing waiter and politely asks for more water.

Thancred shoots him a little frown. “Are you ill? You look warm,” he says, leaning forward. Ikael pointedly avoids eye contact while Thancred studies him. Does he have to be so close? Ikael takes a big, nervous gulp of his water.

“’m fine, fine,” he burbles into the glass. “Just, ah… feeling a bit off today. I-I’ll sleep it off.”

Thancred shoots him a doubtful look, but doesn’t press. “If you say so,” he says, drawing back—thank the Twelve. “Well, we should be off. If you weren’t paying attention, you can catch up when we get there.”

He gets up and begins to walk away. Ikael downs his glass and follows hastily. When they get where? Oh, no matter. Ikael tries to picture the herbs he needs in his minds’ eye as they walk. It has just occurred to him that, in all likelihood, they will not be called by the names he is familiar with. He may have to… _ask_ about what miqo’te here do for their heats. He winces at the thought.

It is only when they are striding up the steps to the Ocular that Ikael realizes that that is, in fact their destination. His eyes widen and he stops, grabbing at Thancred's arm.

“I-I-I can’t go in there,” he stammers, momentarily panicked. Not near the Exarch if his life depends on it, nope.

Thancred frowns, the brief alarm in his expression from Ikael’s hasty clutching abating somewhat. “Why not?”

“Because I—I’m—he’ll—” Ikael doesn’t know what to tell him without giving anything away. After a few seconds of broken words he gives up.

“Just, please,” he begs, looking at Thancred with the widest, most pleading eyes he can muster. “I-I can’t. Just trust me on this. A-and. Don’t mention it to the Exarch, please.”

Thancred studies him for a long moment, but finally gives a short nod, and Ikael’s shoulders nearly sag with relief. “Thank you,” he breathes. “A-ah. Really.”

“Right.” Thancred shoots him one last skeptical look before heading inside. Ikael sits on the steps as he waits, now breathing more easily. Thancred's suspicion over his wellbeing is nothing to worry about. In fact, if he actually manages to figure out what is going on, that saves Ikael from having to find excuses. Or explain it himself, gods forbid.

After Thancred comes back out, Ikael mumbles something about staying at his room in the Pendants for a bit, because maybe he _is_ feeling a little under the weather, and he wouldn’t want Thancred to catch ill, right? He doesn’t expect Thancred to offer to go to the healers to fetch him medicine, and although it is honestly very sweet and not a little tempting, Ikael does not wish to deal with that particular awkwardness secondhandedly. He declines with a smile, slotting the trip in for himself later in the evening.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then, Ikael,” Thancred farewells with a questioning glance. Ikael nods hurriedly.

“Yeah, tomor—tomorrow! O-or… after that, if I'm not feeling better. Don’t worry about it! Ha ha!”

He scuttles away before he can say something even more idiotic. Thancred's suspicion can only be stretched so thin before it turns to concern, he knows. He shouldn’t push his luck.

~*~

Once Ikael is inside his room at the Pendants, he makes sure his door is unlocked before collapsing on his bed. His—his _armour_ is chafing, rubbing against his skin in odd but mostly uncomfortable ways. He pulls at it mindlessly as he tosses and turns on the bed, trying to both undress himself and seek comfort from the cool softness of the bedsheet at the same time. He feels so— _itchy—_ he just needs to take the edge off, and then he can… he can…

He is still mostly mindless when he jerks off his smalls and puts a hand to his sex. His fingers move messily, rapidly, no need for direction or further lubrication when he is heated. It offers some relief, although not much, and the orgasm he wrings from himself with a soft cry does well enough to clear some of the fogginess from his mind.

Well, he thinks as he looks for a sink, he very much hopes the Exarch wasn’t spying on him for _that_.

He ends up ditching his armour before deciding to head out, instead favouring something light, open, and airy to not aggravate his condition. He really does need to get those herbs; his current clear-headedness will not last for too long. This morning had been alright, if annoying, the beginnings of his heat mild in its symptoms and subsequent disruption. But evening is when things start to get thicker, _headier_ , with both the heat itself and people’s bodies milling about, tired and strongly-scented from the activities of the day, and looking for—for something to distract them, perhaps, or _someone_ , someone to soothe and touch and _fuck—_

Ikael hurries out the door. The sooner he can go and come back, the better.

~*~

Getting what he needs is almost as awkward a task as he had expected, but only due to his own attitude towards it. Chessamile is surprisingly understanding, and directs him to a nearby mystel—that’s what they're called—assistant with a kind smile. It turns out that heat-tempering medicine is not an uncommon request, and Ikael does not have to mix anything himself. He takes the medicine gratefully, profusely thanks everyone present, and shyly declines the additionally proffered pregnancy control.

He decides to wander around for a bit to try and clear his head some before going back to his room. He will leave the medicine for tonight, when his symptoms will worsen. He doesn’t know how efficient it is, and he does not want to risk wasting it.

Stopping to rest is Ikael’s first mistake, although in his defense he is feeling very warm again, and all the walking around is not helping. Letting his gaze roam around to take in the people middling about is his second mistake, and he really does not have an excuse for that one.

He has been trying his very best to avoid coming into contact with any fellow mystel. Those who would respond to his heat especially—this world does not have the helpful classification of Tias that distinguish those who will… _react_ when they catch his scent, but Ikael has eyes and a nose, and he can sometimes be seen putting them to good use.

Of course, his mind is still muddled. And so of course, he doesn’t have as much awareness of his adherence to his own rules as he would like, and he finds himself maybe, perhaps, eyeing up a handsome mystel or two. And… one of them might have glanced his way and noticed him. And… now it is too late, even as Ikael tries to divert his gaze and desperately pretend as if he hasn’t been staring for what he now knows is too long. He swallows as the man makes his way over.

“Are you new here?” The mystel asks with a crooked sort of smirk. He isn’t terribly attractive, per se, but the angle of his body and how he holds himself is what had drawn Ikael’s hungry gaze. Godsdamn him.

“Uh—I-I. Sort of,” Ikael stammers. He can feel his face heat up as the man gives him a very obvious onceover, nostrils flaring. Damn it. Damn it.

He _can't_ let himself be claimed by a random stranger, he can't. Even though he is having a—a— _physical_ reaction, it does not mean he actually wants to put himself in such a vulnerable position.

“Ah. Well is there any reason that a pretty little thing like yourself,” The mystel grins rakishly, eyes flashing, “who is only _sort of_ new has decided to expose themselves to this scene?” He gestures around the area vaguely.

“Ah—I-I,” Ikael says, blood rushing to his face. He tries to take a step back, forgetting that he is leaning against a wall, and hits hard stone. The mystel takes a step forward.

He licks his lips, eyes darting to Ikael’s throat, and Ikael just barely manages to stifle the urge to simply… _bare_ it and let this complete stranger with just the right amount of aggression in his stance lay claim to him here and now. As it is, his neck sort of—twitches—and the mystel seems to zero in on the movement.

“Looking for someone, maybe?” he continues, his voice now a low rumble. He takes another step forwards, and he is only ilms away now. “I can be that someone for you, sweet thing.”

Ikael is—Ikael is not a _thing_. He shakes his head, even as he trembles at the words. No, no, no. He needs to be—alone. Safe. He raises his hands to ward the man off, swallowing when his fingertips graze against a firm chest.

The man’s mouth curls into a predative smile. “Not here, sweet thing,” he says, misunderstanding Ikael’s intention. _Oh no._ “As much as I would love to claim you out here in the open in front of everybody—” Really? Ew. “—They frown at such behaviour here. But come with me, and I’ll give you everything you want and _more_.”

“A-ah—I—there’s been a. Misunderstanding,” Ikael tries. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, although from what he can’t quite tell. “I-I just need to—need to—”

The mystel leans in closer, baring his teeth. This time, Ikael tips his neck instinctively, and when he straightens it out again, it is too late. The man all but pounces, pressing himself up against Ikael from chest to thigh to— _oh—_ and it is all Ikael can do to try and hold him off. He doesn’t want to—to _hurt_ him, he just—oh gods—

The mystel suddenly jerks back, as if being wrenched away from an unseen hand. And wrenched away from an unseen hand he is. There, behind him, stands Thancred, frowning deeply and holding him up by the back of the collar. Ikael quickly suppresses his initial reaction to that—oh, Thancred is _strong_ —and nearly melts in relief.

(Besides, Ikael is also strong, but Ikael cannot go and fuck himself, no matter how many times people have told him to do so.)

“Thancred, thank the gods,” he breathes. Thancred glances between him and the mystel, and his frown turns into a scowl.

“Just what is going on here?” he asks sharply. He fixes the mystel with a withering glare. “It looked fairly one-sided, from where I was standing.”

“Like to watch, do you, hume?” the mystel snaps, hormonal aggression from not having what had almost been claimed as his flaring up. “This is none of your business.”

“And _he_ is none of _yours_ ,” Thancred returns coldly. He lets go, then plants himself firmly in front of Ikael. “You’ll run along now if you know what’s good for you.”

The mystel hisses, but seems to consider the situation, taking in Thancred's stance and expression. Finally, he slinks away with one last glower and an annoyed little flick to his tail.

“Th-thank you. I-I…” Ikael is barely coherent at this point, half because he is still a little scared, and half because Thancred defending him like that, standing like that, acting… _protective_ like that… oh. It is a good thing _Thancred_ cannot smell him, that is for sure. “I. Um.”

He stops, because Thancred has turned around. They are standing very close together, Ikael realizes over the thudding of his suddenly racing heart. Do hyur have special pheromones he does not know about? The mystel hadn’t even evoked this sort of reaction in him.

“Ikael, are you alright?” Thancred's expression morphs into one of concern. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Ikael shakes his head, too busy trying not to think about the fact that Thancred's lips are just about at eye level to respond verbally. Then Thancred presses his hand to Ikael’s forehead, and his ability to speak fizzles out completely.

“You’re very warm,” Thancred tells him, which is stupid, because Ikael knows that already. He is very warm and blotchy and aroused and pathetic right now, he _knows._ Thancred ducks down to get a look at his eyes—pupils probably—but Ikael’s stupid idiot brain takes the movement and runs malms away with it. He gives his head a quick shake, shoving Thancred back by a fulm so he will not do something he will regret.

“I-I-I’m in heat,” he babbles, all in a rush. “I-I’m in heat and I shouldn’t be out by myself and that mystel was trying to claim me but I got my medicine and I can go back now and take it and be fine well not fine they don’t even have vibrators here but I’ll just suffer for a day or two it’s fine!”

From the slight widening of Thancred's eyes (and his ensuing good long seconds of silence), that is the last thing he had expected Ikael to say.

“Oh,” he replies eloquently.

Ikael flushes. “I-I just. Need to get back to my room,” he mumbles. “And be left there for a bit. Is all.”

“I see.” To his credit, Thancred seems to recover from his surprise fairly quickly. “You said you shouldn’t be out by yourself; I’m guessing that is because of what just happened? I can escort you if you think there is a risk of further… encounters.”

Ikael looks down. “I-I’d like that, thank you,” he says. “A-and yes. Partly. I-it’s not just them. It’s also me.”

“What do you mean?” Thancred cocks his head, offering Ikael his arm. The same arm that had held the mystel up, although it is still in his coat. Is… Ikael supposed to take his forearm? His _bicep_? Oh. Oh.

“I just get really horny,” he blurts out, and immediately turns scarlet.

Oh gods.

“… I see.” Thancred seems to be struggling to control his tone of voice, although to what end, Ikael is probably best off not knowing. He slowly drops his arm, and then smirks very faintly. “You can just tag along behind me, then.”

Oh. Bastard. Ikael is too mortified to respond, but he does falls into step behind Thancred gratefully. _Handsome arsehole bastard_ , he calls in his head, although it is a vain attempt to counteract the effect the tightness of Thancred's coat across his shoulders is having on him. Has he always moved like that? Godsdamn him.

Thancred comes to a stop before they even reach the Pendants, and Ikael doesn’t have to look around too far to see why. There are many, many people around, including most importantly a pack of mystel that are very much in their way. Ikael swallows nervously, scooting behind Thancred to hide a little.

Thancred notices his reticence, of course, and glances at him with something like concern. “I’m assuming passing near them is not something you wish to do,” he says.

“I’m unclaimed, so they’ll… notice.” Ikael begins to nibble at his lip. Then immediately stops, because, well.

“Unclaimed?” Thancred's tone is polite in the way one’s tone gets when speaking of another’s culture, but it is also very curious. “Forgive me for knowing little of miqo’te—or mystel—customs, but you are with me, are you not? Would they still bother you?”

“A-ah, ah,” Ikael says, flushing deeply at the implication that they would think _he_ was claimed by… _Thancred_. Oh. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he tells himself. He just admitted that, Ikael. Still, though. Oh…

“Thancred, a heat is a—a physical thing,” he says, trying his best not to stumble over his words. Thancred gives a slow half-nod, but he is clearly listening. Ikael continues, “I-I… give off a certain. Ah. _Smell_. Tias can—w-well. I don’t know how it works here, but pairable miq—mystel can. Smell me from even yalms away, like… a-an aphrodisiac perfume of sorts. Biologically, it’s supposed to serve, um. Mating purposes. But that’s rarely the case outside of tribes. And, obviously, I can’t. Really. Um.”

Thancred's head tilts a little. “So you cannot be ‘claimed,’ as you put it, without physically mating with someone?”

Ikael licks his lips. His mouth is dry again. “A-ah, not exactly. A-a claim is—is like a mark. A-a-a bite or something. I-it… changes the wants. A-and the needs. Of the heated one. I-it’s kind of psychological.”

He looks down, blushing. “And it changes the—the scent. Someone who is claimed will not be pursued by anyone other than their partner, for the duration of the heat. Similarly, they can’t, um.” He clears his throat. “Find proper relief with—with anyone else. I-I don’t really know how that part works, though.”

Thancred raises an eyebrow at “proper relief,” but constrains his reaction to a small smirk. “And so what have you done, up until now?” he asks, completely audaciously.

Ikael’s blush intensifies. “I-I just dealt with it by myself!” he sputters. “That—that isn’t relevant!”

“And you’re really going to be fine this time, with _no vibrators_?” Thancred says with a sly grin. He is—teasing, Ikael knows, but now is hardly the proper time and place for it! And he seems amused by Ikael’s reaction. Bloody arsehole prick bastard. Ikael does not know too many Eorzean swear words.

Thancred chuckles in his throat, low and warm, and, oh, _Ikael_ feels low and warm too. “My apologies,” he murmurs, “I simply couldn’t resist teasing you a little.” _Oh._ Gods. “So how do you propose we get you to your room without attracting any unwanted attention? I don’t suppose having my gunblade out will be sufficient?”

Ikael gapes at him a little, but Thancred looks as if his verbal intent is innocent enough. Damn Ikael for where his mind is at and that he’s _still_ somewhat chaining the thoughts of _Thancred_ and _claiming_. He… he really should not be outside right now, not at this stage. He should have asked Thancred to get him his medicine, he realizes in despair. He could have avoided _all_ of this.

“Ikael?” Thancred's tone has an undercurrent of amusement running through it. Ikael stops staring at his mouth—parted, a little wet, full—and does his best to appear put together.

“There’s no—there’s no real way to, uh. Fake claim me? I-i-if that’s what you’re thinking,” he starts. His voice is already going high and pitchy; he clears his throat. “But you can. Well. I-if you’re… alright with it? You can just act as—as if. Um.” _As if you intend to do that later._ “As if you’re, um. With me. Physically. Phys—physically act, I mean! Yeah. I-it might ward off unwanted, um. Attention.”

Thancred cocks his head, considering the suggestion. After a moment he slides his left arm out of his coat, and, stepping forwards, drapes the garment over a stunned Ikael. “I warrant this may also serve the purpose of blocking some of your scent,” he suggests. “Is this what you mean?”

Ikael’s eyes are wide. Close like this, he can very much feel Thancred's form against him, warm and strong and just a _little_ bit taller than him. He doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if they started moving. Gods, he can _smell_ him. Almost feel his heartbeat.

“U-uh,” he says intelligently.

Thancred gives him a small, private smile. Ikael swears his voice dips into something more intimate when he murmurs, “Is this alright?”

Ikael nods hastily, swallowing hard. Thancred presses even closer to him and Ikael’s heartbeat spikes, but he has only moved to offer the outer edge of his coat.

“Hold on,” Thancred tells him. Ikael clutches at the fabric with sweaty hands, trying to ignore how close Thancred's face is to his. A lock of his hair brushes Ikael’s lips as he moves back, and he almost whimpers.

Thancred's arm hovers uncertainly before finally settling around Ikael’s waist, underneath his coat. This is _it,_ Ikael is going to _die_ , his mother is going to cry at his funeral and then find out that he internally combusted because a man put an arm around him and then change her mind and laugh. _Bicep_ , Ikael thinks futilely, and that is his last coherent thought.

He isn’t exactly aware of his surroundings as they walk through the heavy throng of people, because his mind is too focused on Thancred's movements and Thancred's breathing and Thancred's body and Thancred's warmth and Thancred taking him against a wall, but he does notice when they pass by the group of mystel he had wanted to particularly avoid. Yes, alright, maybe he only notices because Thancred pulls him ever, impossibly closer, but having a small heart attack counts as noticing, and Ikael cannot exactly _fail_ to do that.

Outside of his small bubble of awareness, there are eyes on him, but Thancred's eyes are on _them_ , warning and warding them off in equal measure. If Ikael had noticed this he probably _would_ have combusted, so it is really for the best that he doesn’t.

They stop after some time. Ikael doesn’t know much time, but he does know that they have stopped moving. He looks around, in a daze, and somewhere in the back of his mind registers that they’ve arrived at the Pendants.

Thancred's coat starts to slide off him, slowly and deliberately. Ikael makes a distressed noise—don’t leave him, no!—and tugs it back around himself. Thancred can stay _right here_ , with him.

“Ah,” Thancred says very quietly as Ikael purrs into his shoulder.

Thancred walks with him for a few more paces. Ikael is pacified now that he isn’t trying to leave, and follows amicably, leeching in his warmth. He only wishes that Thancred's godsdamned clothing wouldn’t scratch him so, because Ikael is not really wearing a full shirt, and it is thin, and he thinks that Thancred's bare skin would be a much more acceptable substitute. Thancred's skin, and his hands, sliding over him and banishing that itchy, lingering heat in Ikael, dipping between his legs to—to _soothe_ the throbbing, give him relief, and then—oh, maybe, the masculinity in the angle of those shoulders—changing, shifting into something more dominant so that he can cover every inch of Ikael and fuck him, _hard—_

Thancred is saying something to someone, but Ikael isn’t paying attention. He drags his gaze up from where it has stuck to Thancred's chest, and stares at his mouth instead. The line of his jaw. How his throat moves as he talks. He wonders if the jump in his throat would bob in a swallow if Ikael sucked on it.

(“Just his room here, please, and directions to it.”

The elf studies Thancred with a guarded expression. “He does not quite seem… himself at the moment, does he?”

Thancred glances down. Ikael’s pupils are dilated, his face red and blotchy, his mouth slightly open, and he is staring at Thancred as if he wants to eat him alive. He swallows—Ikael’s eyes track the movement—then looks back at the Master of Suites, and says, “He isn’t. I just need to make sure he gets some rest. He should be in bed.”

The man’s countenance eases. “Ah, a concerned friend.”

“Very.”)

There are suddenly double doors in front of them. Ikael blinks at them, registers that they’re at his room, and lets his awareness expand once more now that it is safe.

Thancred seems to notice the shift in his demeanor as Ikael looks around, checking that the hallway is clear. He gets caught on Thancred's chest again, but at least this time he _knows_ he’s acting like a fool.

“Are you, ah, back with me?” Thancred speaks, then clears his throat. “What was that? And… may I take my coat back now?”

Ikael flushes, although a glance at Thancred's—mouth—shows that he’s smiling a little.

“Not related to the heat,” Ikael mumbles, averting his gaze. If it is a lie, it is one only by omission; obviously Thancred hasn’t even claimed him yet—gods, Thancred claiming him, there’s a favourite thought now—but Ikael’s mind had folded in on itself and then skipped a little bit ahead. “I-i-it’s. A me thing. Mixed with—other stuff.” Affection, a sense of being secure and cradled and—and other embarrassing things he’ll never admit to Thancred out loud.

“I see.” The comforting weight of Thancred's coat pulls back and away. Ikael mourns its loss, but he more so mourns his shiver when Thancred's arm glides against his waist as it withdraws. “So, are you… better now? How are you feeling?”

How is Ikael _feeling?_ Oh, he shouldn’t answer that question honestly. Because the answer is, _I still want you to fuck me senseless_ and also perhaps _Gods. Oh gods. Fuck, oh gods_ , towards Thancred in general.

“Still,” he manages, and his voice is hoarse, “… hot.”

Something indecipherable shifts into Thancred's gaze. “Ah,” he says lowly.

 _Oh_ , he shouldn’t sound like _that_ , not in public. Ikael gapes at him stupidly, eyes widening when Thancred reaches forwards—and tries the door.

“Locked,” he says pointlessly.

Ikael is staring at his shoulder as it moves back to his side. Ridiculous, Ikael is—ridiculous.

“Ikael? You don’t happen to have the key, do you?” Thancred's voice is rich with something like amusement. And something else, Ikael wants to add. Ooh. “Seeing as it _is_ your room and all.”

“A-ah.” Ikael eventually registers what Thancred is asking. He licks his lips. “I-it’s. On me. Somewhere.”

Thancred leans forwards. Ikael stares up at him with a wide, heated gaze. Thancred's arm moves towards him. Ikael nearly stops breathing in anticipation. Thancred’s arm goes to the door, and then he pushes off of it to step back.

“Then you had better find it,” he remarks, low and—yes, amused.

Bastard.

Ikael pats himself down, taking the opportunity to slide some of his top off and out of the way, because his skin is still itching with that now uncomfortable warmth. Then the feeling of skin on bare skin, even if it is his own, is too… _nice_ now, in a tingly way, so Ikael does it a little more. Lets his hands go a little lower.

Thancred clears his throat. “Ikael,” he says, somewhat stiffly.

Ikael almost pouts. It isn’t as if he’s going to _finger_ himself in public; he was just trying to feel a little bit better. Besides, no one else is here. And it is not like _Thancred_ is affected by him, or what his silly hands are doing, so why is he even bothered? Arse.

“Mm.” Ikael shifts his legs together to relieve some of the heat between them as he fishes out his keys. It takes him a few tries, but he manages to unlock the doors.

Thancred follows him inside, closing and locking the doors behind him. “You said earlier you’d take your medicine here, correct? Although why you couldn’t have done it sooner is beyond me.”

His voice sounds a little off, but Ikael pays it no mind. He gives a coy little shrug, staring at— _handsome man—_ through lowered lids. “Dunno how much it’ll work,” he murmurs.

Thancred frowns. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t know how _effective_ it is, Thancred,” Ikael calls over his shoulder as he goes to lie on the bed. He stretches out on his back, trying to shimmy out of his top and pull it off himself at the same time. “Oh…”

“You’re—going to tangle it.” Thancred begins to step towards him, then aborts the movement abruptly. Ikael ignores him.

He finally manages to get the annoying fabric _off_. He tosses it somewhere, and begins to slowly rub his back against the bedsheets, reveling in the friction it creates. After a minute, he turns around to his front.

“’nyways, I didn’t wanna… waste it,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. The urge to throw caution to the wind and simply pleasure himself right now, Thancred's presence be damned, is there, but he still has mind enough to not give into it. “What if it only lasted for a bell or something? Needed to wait until it was… ah… bad.”

There is a short pause before Thancred responds. Ikael does not mind—he has discovered that his _nipples_ are on his front, which is nice, because he doesn’t have those on his back. He thinks, maybe, that this is a flaw of evolution.

He thinks he hears Thancred swallow. Oh… _Ikael_ would like to… swallow. Him. What? “Wait, so what are you going to do for… however long this lasts? Just rub yourself on the bed like a b—”

He breaks off. Ikael blows a rolanberry at the air, turning around again. Thancred's eyes flick up to his face, too quickly for Ikael to guess where they had been resting before. Probably not on him, he is sadly certain.

“No, silly,” Ikael mumbles, trailing a hand down his abdomen. “I am going to… hehe.” He stops his hand at the waistband of his brais and giggles. “Gonna… be in heat… for a day or so,” he mumbles. “Is less time, for me. Medicine is just for…” He waves dismissively. “Pbbt.”

He really _is_ going to get started now. Thancred should leave, he thinks sadly and pathetically. The thought sobers him, and he straightens up.

“You should go,” he mutters. He feels his ears droop at the thought of both the “Thancred claiming him” fantasy and Thancred himself, an ever-comforting presence, leaving. Ah well. At least he’s got a lot of material to cramp his hand to now.

“Wait.” Thancred's voice sinks heavier in seriousness, and damn it all, he should at least have the decency to let Ikael be pathetic by himself. “Earlier, you said ‘suffer.’ Is it not… sufficient, when it is just you? And you don’t have anything to help you?”

He frowns, looking around the room as if to find something Ikael could use. Ikael bites his lip, caught in a wince. No, it isn’t sufficient; Ikael is one of those people who cannot get quite the right sensation from his own hand. It is too rough, or too itchy, or too much, or too little. How had Thancred even _remembered_ that? Damn him.

Thancred's eyes meet his for the first time in what, Ikael realizes with a jolt, is a while. He seems to take Ikael’s silence as an answer, and has the audacity to look _concerned_ when he says, “Would you like me to… fetch someone? I don’t know if you said if someone claiming you,” Oh, and _that_ does funny things to Ikael’s insides, hearing Thancred say those words so casually, “is permanent, or…?”

“I-it’s not permanent.” Ikael swallows, averting his gaze. “Just for the one heat. But I-I. Don’t want to, with a random stranger. I-I-I can’t do that.”

He hears the shifting of cloth, and when he looks up, Thancred is in the middle of taking his coat off. Ikael’s brain short-circuits. “What are—what are you doing?” he stammers.

Thancred pauses. “Taking off my coat,” he says slowly. He drapes it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“It is simply warm in here, is all,” he explains as he leans against it, crossing his arms. “Especially in heavy armour.”

“Warm,” Ikael repeats faintly, staring at how his muscles flex when he shifts his arms.

A small smile flits across Thancred's face, but it is gone before Ikael can decipher its meaning. “What I was going to say is,” he begins, “What if it wasn’t a stranger? That claimed you, I mean. Would you be open to that idea?”

Ikael swallows around a dry throat. Thancred is talking—he has to pay attention. “Who do you have in mind?” he asks. “There isn’t exactly… a long… list…”

He trails off. His eyes widen fractionally. Thancred's chin lifts. Ikael’s mouth opens a little. Thancred's eyes seem to narrow, ever-so-slightly.

“You aren’t suggesting—” Ikael starts.

“Well, I—” Thancred cuts himself off with a small cough. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I-I. I wanted to avoid this from the start, Thancred, and I'm sure you have the best intentions, but, _gods_ , trust me when I say it’s a horrible idea to—”

Thancred looks suddenly abashed. “Well. That’s, ah, alright. Long shot, anyways, and if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“—ask _G’raha?!_ Gods, no.”

“I… what?”

“Look,” Ikael continues, oblivious to Thancred's frozen expression. He wrings his hands, “There was a reason I wanted to avoid him, and it’s not because I secretly want to fuck him and can’t bear for him to see me like this! I don’t want to fuck him! And he was just—he was like a—a—kid when I first met him! I swear, Thancred, he was like an oddly smart puppy! And he hasn’t changed much in that sense. And the way he talks about me… I can’t fuck _that_.”

Thancred stares at him. Ikael stares back.

“I didn’t mean the Exarch,” Thancred says finally, something precarious and a little cracked in his voice.

Ikael blinks at him, mind blanking. But he can’t think of... “O-oh. Then who…?”

Thancred draws in a breath. He looks Ikael in the eye, and then says simply, with a self-conscious little half-smile, “I meant myself.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” Ikael says, and the sudden rush of arousal that floods him and rushes straight to the heavy throb between his legs shouldn’t be a surprise, really. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeats, far more hoarsely.

Thancred walks towards him. Ikael stares up at him, mouth going dry. Thancred stops when he is right in front of the bed. “Well?” he prompts.

That’s it? Just… offer himself, then ask Ikael if he wants to or not? Gods. Ikael licks his lips a few times, trying to figure out what to say.

“I-I don’t want you to… That is to say, why are you, um, offering? You know, i-if you don’t want—want to, I’ll be fine on my—um. My own?” His voice pitches up in what shouldn’t be a question. No, Ikael, godsdammit. You _will_ be fine on your own. Take control of your narrative.

Thancred cocks his head. “I _do_ want to,” he assures before Ikael can repeat himself for no reason. “If it’s possible, that is. Besides, I’d hate to see you resign yourself to mediocrity when I could,” his eyelids lower, “help.”

 _Oh_. Gods. Yes, he would definitely help, by malms and malms more than what Ikael has ever even had on his relatively few heats. Ikael tries speaking a few times, fails, and finally manages to say, “But do you, um. Want to actually…” Don’t say _mate_. “… Fuck me?”

That’s worse.

Thancred, however, doesn’t seem to mind Ikael’s turn towards slow brain death. He looks down his body in a way that is— _oh_ —before flicking his eyes back up. “I do,” he replies.

Ikael swallows. “O-okay then,” he stutters. Thancred gives him a smile of what could be relief, and begins to slowly drop towards him on the bed—and Ikael jumps up as he remembers something. “Oh!”

Thancred lands ungracefully on his arse. “What,” he says.

“I-I need… There is a letter,” Ikael mumbles, skittering over to his pack. He kneels down and begins to rifle through it, haste making every brush of itchy burlap against his hands annoying, and every wrong item he takes out… more annoying. Finally, he finds what he is looking for—a stack of letters. He starts thumbing through them.

“Aymeric… Hien…” he mutters to himself. Cid? Really?

Triumphantly, he pulls out one marked with the letter _T._ “Found it!”

Thancred is watching him in confusion and mild irritation. “Now is hardly the time to be delivering the mail, Ikael,” he grunts, shifting around in his seat.

“I wrote this just in case something like this ever happened,” Ikael tells him as he shuffles back over. His eyes flick over Thancred, the urge to simply straddle him and grind down until he finds relief not non-existent. He sticks the letter out before he can act on it. He will just ogle him greedily in the meantime, he thinks.

Thancred crosses his legs and takes the folded paper. He opens it and skims it over, frown dissipating as his eyes slowly widen.

_Dear Thancred,_

_Please don’t be conserned about my ability to make desisions when I am in heat. I’m writing this in advance to give you permision to be my ~~mate~~ partner and everything that entails. Rest assurd that I DO want to fuck you._

_Yours Truly,_

_Ikael_ ♡

Thancred looks up. Ikael smiles at him helpfully, then goes back to staring at his thighs. 

Thancred clears his throat. “Ikael,” he says, “How long ago did you write this?”

Um. “That… doesn’t matter!” Ikael replies, perhaps a little shrilly. “Ahaha! Anyways, this was just in case you thought I was being… _influenced_ by my heat, or whatever silly little ideas people get. I am glad I’ve cleared your conscience. Haha!”

He taps the bridge of his nose and winks. Thancred stares at him.

“I’ll admit the thought that I would be taking advantage of you did cross my mind,” he states, “but you’ve made it quite clear that your attention to me is… selective.”

Yes. What?

… Oh.

“Oh,” says Ikael, dying a little inside.

“I mean,” Thancred elaborates, even though he really shouldn’t, Ikael thinks, “You weren’t even looking at that mystel earlier the way you’ve been eyeing me all evening. From what I have observed, your heat doesn’t seem to make you _attracted_ to people. It just makes you, as you put it,” His lips curl, and Ikael resists the sudden urge to plug his ears, “‘ _really horny_.’”

“A-a-ah,” Ikael says.

Thancred reaches over to place the letter on the nightstand. He smoothes it out neatly.

“At least this was informative in regard to your difficulties with the letter ‘s,’” he comments. “I will mention it to Urianger; he is a good tutor, if a tangential one.”

He looks at Ikael after a few seconds have passed and he still hasn’t said anything, and expression softens somewhat. “Now, don’t be embarrassed,” he soothes, reaching out to curl his gloved hand around Ikael’s waist and slowly pull him closer. Ikael’s heartbeat spikes. “I was flattered, really. _Am_ flattered.”

This is—horrible. Ikael does not want a pity fuck. “I-I-I,” he says, covering his face. His voice is a mumble. “… Since when was it obvious?”

Thancred gives a considering hum. His other hand goes to Ikael’s waist as well, gliding up before they both slide down to his hips. He tugs, gently, and Ikael’s brain is far too frazzled for him to do anything but comply and fall onto him.

Thancred raises his thighs, causing Ikael to rock forwards against his chest. His arms go up again—Ikael thinks he is tugging his gloves off, but all he is aware of is that Thancred is surrounding him—as he finally replies, “Around the time I offered to escort you.”

Oh, that is— _oh_. Ikael goes red, from both Thancred's proximity and his own embarrassment. “I-I-I’m sorry,” he manages to croak.

Thancred's hands touch his back—and yes, now they’re bare. “Don’t be,” he murmurs, sliding them down—his fingertips against Ikael’s skin are sugar-sweet and burning—to hook Ikael’s legs around his waist. “As I said, it was flattering. In fact,” And he leans closer as Ikael gives in to his urges and simply grinds down, muffling a whimper, “Oh, there you go. In fact, do you want to know when those naughty little thoughts began to enter _my_ head?”

Ikael has discovered that there is something for him to grind down _onto_ —oh, Thancred is most definitely receptive to this, that is for sure. “A-ah,” he says.

He feels Thancred smile as his lips brush his neck. “I will take that as a yes, if you don’t mind. I think it was when you said, _‘I’m in heat.’_ ”

O-oh, but that was—Ikael loses his train of thought as Thancred sucks at the skin behind his jaw, simultaneously rocking his hips to encourage Ikael’s movements. Thancred's lips are scorching against Ikael’s heated skin, but his tongue is cool, wet, maddening. Just how is _he_ managing to still be so eloquent? It is infuriating. Ikael grinds down harder onto his erection, moaning softly at the feeling—yes, _finally—_ and Thancred's breathing flutters, but he shows no other signs of being affected.

“That was quite a while ago,” Ikael manages to gasp out, voice shaking only slightly. He sounds—oh, he sounds nothing short of wanton, but he is in heat and he can use that as an excuse for everything now, godsdammit. Thancred huffs out an airy little laugh.

“Well, my first thought was…” He pauses to mouth along Ikael’s throat, “… something along the lines of believing that _I_ could help you with that. But no, I told myself.” He draws back an ilm to look at Ikael, quiet brown eyes half-lidded. “Bad Thancred.”

“Mm—guh,” Ikael manages as he rocks. He tilts his neck, baring it.

Thancred seems to appreciate the gesture. One of his hands goes to cradle Ikael’s head, thumb brushing over the skin of his throat—which jumps—while the other resettles right above his tail. His fingertips are scalding points of fire against Ikael’s skin, only stirring him on. Ikael’s desperate grinding becomes erratic.

Thancred keeps talking. “What you needed at that moment was my aid, not my cock,” he continues. Ikael gets stuck on him saying the word “cock” for a few stunned seconds, and so misses some of what he says next. “… me glad I did. Letter or no, you were in no position to make decisions like that until we entered this room.”

“A-ah, _please_ ,” Ikael whines.

Thancred's fingers squeeze the base of his tail. He leans forwards a little, shifting their angle into something—something _new_ and _delicious_. “Now what was it you said? A bite?”

Ikael’s head tips back even further. He whimpers, closing his eyes.

Thancred's lips go back to his neck. They flutter around, as if searching for a spot, and then he bites down, hard and sudden.

Ikael comes.

When his head clears once more (well, as much as it can), Thancred is staring at him, wet lips parted in something like surprise.

“Well, I didn’t… quite think that would happen,” he admits. “But it isn’t entirely unexpected. So even just that is enough, hm?” He glances down at himself. “And I am still wearing my armour. Huh. Fancy that.”

He is… Wait. Ikael shifts back so he can press a hand down to what he’d _thought_ was Thancred's erection. It still might be, but…

“Codpiece,” Ikael exhales. “Oh. _Oh_. My gods.”

Thancred shoots him a charismatic little half-smile. “I am sure it felt very good for you,” he placates. “It certainly looked like it did. And you were quite a _sight_ , I must say.”

“You barely even felt anything, did you?” Ikael can feel the heat rush to his face despite Thancred's tone. Oh, gods. “I was just…”

“I appreciated the view very much, I can assure you,” Thancred says. “But yes, heavy armour does tend to do its job. There was some… jostling, but little else.”

Ikael buries his face into Thancred's neck. “Oh gods, _Thancred_ ,” he bemoans.

“Now, now.” Thancred pats him on the back. “You should be saying that when I am pleasuring you senseless, not because you got off to a piece of metal.”

That startles a laugh from Ikael despite himself. “You’re such an arse,” he breathes, and then he is gasping out helpless little chuckles as he lets the situation wash over him. “Gods…”

Thancred keeps up his little pats. When Ikael has calmed down some, he says, “Now, what does being claimed entail? Are things more heightened for you? Does your libido increase even _more?_ ” He presses a teasing hand between Ikael’s legs, and Ikael gasps at the unexpected pressure. _Oh_.

“Oh, I _see_.” Thancred starts to rock his hand. His tone slips into something warm and melting, and— _Ikael_ certainly feels warm and melting. “Look at you, so responsive. Are you going to come again if I keep this up? Hm?”

Ikael opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out at first is a crackling whimper. _Yes_ is the answer to that question, as embarrassing as it might be. But Ikael finds that his embarrassment is leaving him, running away to the corners of his mind and fading out as the rush of arousal stirred by his heat takes over.

“Being clai—claimed means,” he gasps out, “That even more than bef—than before I just want you to—o-oh—”

Thancred's hand withdraws, and Ikael chases it to no avail, even as he tries to hold himself back. “Yes?” Thancred prompts, nosing at his cheek.

“I-I just want you to—to— _fuck_ me, take me, claim me, make me yours,” Ikael gasps out. He arches his neck to expose where Thancred has bitten him, and shifts to rock down on an armoured thigh. “Only yours, please, _please_ —”

“Yes, I can—” Thancred's voice has dropped in pitch. He draws in a shaky breath. “I can certainly do that.”

Ikael draws back, grabs two fistfuls of Thancred's hair, and kisses him.

Thancred kisses him back hungrily, quickly overpowering him. Ikael whimpers, ears flattening in submission, changing his posture to show that he will just— _take_ , take whatever the one who has claimed him wants to do to him. Anything, Ikael will do—anything.

“Anything,” he whispers against Thancred's lips. “A-anything.”

Thancred kisses him again, stealing his breath, and then again, although shorter and sweeter this time. He pulls back to rest his forehead against Ikael’s.

“Not… anything,” he pants. He reaches up and brushes his thumb along Ikael’s lips. “I don’t know what it was like when you did this in previous heats, but if I do anything— _anything_ —you do not wish, completely and fully, for me to do, you tell me to _stop_. Understood?”

Ikael does not understand. “Don’t want you to stop,” he says in a small whine. Thancred has claimed him; does he not want him? “Please, I’ll be good,” he promises. “I’ll be yours.”

Thancred closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, it is only to draw back so he can see Ikael fully. “Ikael,” he says.

Ikael curls up against his chest. He starts to shift his hips again, wanting more— _hot, good—_ friction.

Thancred's hand against his back pushes down slightly. “Stop, just for a minute,” he says. Ikael stops moving immediately.

Thancred licks his lips. “Alright,” he says. “Alright, I don’t think I knew entirely what I was getting into, but that is fine. We can work this through. Ikael, the rules don’t change here simply because you are in heat. If I am doing something to you that you do not like, then you tell me, and I will do something else. Do you understand that?”

Trading? Trading is good, because it is not stopping. Ikael nods.

“And vice versa,” Thancred adds softly. “And if you ever _do_ want me to stop completely—no, don’t look at me like that, this is important—then you say so, and I will. Okay?”

Grudgingly, Ikael nods. Yes, fine. He doubts that will happen, but fine. “Yeah,” he grunts after a beat, because Thancred seems to be waiting for a verbal confirmation. Thancred’s expression eases a little.

There is something he said. “I’ve never had a heat with someone before,” Ikael mumbles into his neck. His skin smells nice—Ikael licks it. “’s only just been me. An’ my vibrator. Hehe.”

Thancred goes very still. “I see,” he says, and even Ikael notices that his tone is careful. “And have you… ever had anyone take you _outside_ of a heat?”

Ikael snorts at that, seeing through those strategically picked words with ease. “I’m not a _virgin_ , Thancred. Yes, I’ve been fucked. Sucked cock. Fucked others. I have a fake cock I wear sometimes for that, you know.”

Thancred's lips quirk up at that. “I look forward to seeing it one day,” he banters. “Alright then, if everything is in order.”

He lays Ikael carefully on the bed, and then stands up, beginning to methodically unlatch his armour. Ikael stares at him, openly drinking in the sight. It is when Thancred is taking off his boots that Ikael’s brain catches up to him.

“Wait,” he says. “Did you just say you want to…?”

“Hm?” Thancred flexes his foot. He starts on the other boot.

Another time, another time. “Never mind,” Ikael mumbles, turning onto his stomach. He keeps watching Thancred undress, tail curling in the air.

When Thancred gets to his inner layers, he starts to make a little show of it. Ikael giggles, thoroughly charmed, thinking innocent things like _fuck me into the mattress_ when Thancred does something like drag a section of his undershirt away from his skin. It is all quite good fun.

Finally, though— _finally!—_ Thancred is naked, and Ikael is very gratified to see (actually see, this time) that he is about as interested as Ikael is in these proceedings. Well, perhaps not _as_ interested as Ikael—he doubts Thancred was soaking through his smalls—but just about as much as is required.

Thancred climbs onto the bed, and Ikael immediately clambers on top of him and seals his mouth around his cock.

“A-ah—oh,” Thancred stumbles. It is gratifying, because _Ikael_ has been the one who has been saying stupid things all night. He sucks Thancred down enthusiastically, relaxing his throat to take him in all the way.

“Don’t… wait around, do you?” Thancred gasps. Ikael moans, greedily taking in the hitch in his voice. He wants _Thancred_ to moan, wants him to writhe underneath him, wants him to come.

He hollows his cheeks, tightening the suction. He doesn’t—he doesn’t know what Thancred likes, but he is a quick learner, and he has been told he is eager to please and surely that is a good thing? Ikael switches tactics, pulling off of Thancred's cock with a soft, wet noise to slobber ungracefully over his hand. He wraps it around the base, then mouths on the head, sucks on it, tongues along the slit, flicks at—oh, Thancred had _moaned_ at that. Oh. _Oh_. Ikael can die happy after hearing that noise.

Ikael does it again, and then again, working his hand alongside at first at a languid pace and then faster as Thancred seems to slowly lose more of his infuriating decorum. Thancred moans again, low and soft, pretty eyelashes fluttering, and Ikael echoes him, although the noise he makes is far more embarrassing. He shoves his free hand underneath himself, beginning to mindlessly rock into it.

“I-Ikael, wait.” Thancred's voice is gratifyingly hoarse. Ikael pulls off, but he does trail a finger along the underside of Thancred's cock, enjoying how it twitches at the touch.

“I am, unfortunately, no miqo’te.” Thancred shoots him a beautiful, weak smile. “My cock can only take so much, if you want it to last.”

Hm. They have herbs for that. Ikael pouts, but withdraws, sitting back on his haunches. He kneads the palm of his hand between his legs, still seeking its stimulation.

Thancred's eyes widen as he notices this. “Gods, you’re still—” He breaks off, shaking his head. His voice tilts into something almost sympathetic. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep being so rough, you know.”

“Need—touch,” Ikael mumbles. “Not enough to—to—please, Thancred…”

“Yes, I’ve got you.” Thancred moves to lift him up, and Ikael arches into his chest, giving himself over. “This is about you, after all. I’ll take care of you.”

Ikael whines softly, finally withdrawing his hand to let Thancred do what he will. He feels the ties of his brais loosening, both at the front and over his tail.

“Twelve, these are thin,” Thancred murmurs. He pulls the fabric over Ikael’s legs and then off, and Ikael wastes no time in pressing his bare thighs to Thancred's muscular ones. He giggles airily, pushing himself up against his body and relishing the opportunity to just—feel all of it connected to his. Bare chest to bare chest, stomach to stomach, legs to legs. Cock to—well, also stomach.

“A-ah, easy does it now,” Thancred says. He gently pushes Ikael down onto his back, and Ikael begins to writhe against the sheets once more. He needs the—contact—

“Oh, is that what you want?” Suddenly, Thancred is draping himself over him, and Ikael makes an unintelligible sound as he feels all of that—skin, muscle, heat—pressed against him. He moans, arching upwards.

“Don’t move your legs. One moment, my dear, and I’ll give you _just_ what you need. Just let me…” Thancred is saying words, although Ikael mostly isn’t paying attention.

Thancred’s body lifts off his. Bad, Ikael decides, trying to chase it. He is stopped with a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pressing down. Which is… decidedly nicer than it should be. _Oh_ , thinks Ikael, heat flooding his cheeks.

Thancred’s eyes flick to him. "Do you like being held down?" he comments as he slips two fingers past Ikael’s soaked smalls. His tone is casual, as if he is commenting on the weather. “Oh my, is this normal? You’ve got quite a situation down here.”

Thancred's voice is curling in something like amusement, although Ikael is in no state of mind to take offense. He nods—at the question, at Thancred's questing fingers. “Please,” he whispers. “I-I just need…”

Thancred's hand disappears as it tugs Ikael’s smalls off. Then it is back, pressing against his sex, stroking through folds slick with moisture. Something rubs against—that sensitive spot—and Ikael keens, arching into the sensations. Yes, _please_ —

“Wait,” he gasps suddenly, eyes flying open. “You’re not—I-I can’t, without you—i-it’s not right—"

The stroking becomes faster, more methodical and sure, and Ikael begins to lose himself. He feels the tickle of Thancred's hair against his collarbones, soft and prickling. Then wet lips seal over his bite mark, sucking into it, soothing it with tongue.

“I plan to spend all night with you, my dear,” Thancred says against his skin, hot and breathless. His hand speeds up. “And so fret not over the details of your pleasure or mine. Just let me make you feel good.”

He nudges Ikael’s thigh open with his knee, shifting the angle of his hand. “Lose yourself in sensation and give into it as many times as you want,” he murmurs.

As permission goes, that is enough. Ikael whines as he orgasms, hoarse and nearly inaudible. Thancred rocks with him, kissing along his neck, slowing his hand only with Ikael’s tremors.

Finally, he withdraws and sits up.

“Well, I am glad that happened,” he says with a wink. “I should probably tick all of the boxes before I am useless, no?”

Ikael gapes up at him stupidly. His face feels hot and sweaty, and he is certain he looks like the bad side of a fried egg. “Wha’?” he croaks.

Thancred's smile turns sly. He raises his—very wet, Ikael notes with a deep, embarrassed flush—hand to his mouth and sucks not on his fingers, but between them, curling his tongue.

Ikael is certain he is referencing _something_ , although he does not understand what. He does, however, stare with an increasingly reddening face, until he is absolutely certain, beyond a doubt, that he has caught fire. His mind seizes the visual before him and runs away with it, causing him to wonder what Thancred's mouth would feel like doing… _that_ , but to his—

Oh. _Oh_.

“I-I-I, uh,” Ikael stutters.

Thancred grins. “Back with me, are you?” he says. His hand leaves his mouth—unfortunate—and he slides down until his head is at Ikael’s hips. He holds him there with one hand, thumb stroking over his hipbone, and lays the other on his inner thigh.

“So what exactly do you need from me?” he asks. He begins to trail his nails—only ever-so-lightly grazing—from the apex of Ikael’s thigh down to his knee, and then back up. Ikael is far too distracted from this, and the resulting rush of arousal, to respond properly.

Thancred's hand skims a bit higher, now barely brushing against the outer folds of Ikael’s sex. He makes an idly curious noise, apparently noticing something. Probably something embarrassing, Ikael is certain.

“Do we need to, ah,” Thancred prods at the opening of Ikael’s sex, spreading it with two fingers before inserting the fingertip of a third and withdrawing it, as if mimicking the act itself. Ikael makes a very unattractive noise at the feeling—oh, he is very wet again, that is embarrassing—but shakes his head.

“Can’t,” he pants, and Thancred nods, as if he had expected that answer. “I-I-I just. I-it’s just a, um. Physical need to. U-uh.” Ikael shoves his head into the pillows, as if that will cool his burning cheeks. “It just makes it easier for me to get off! A-and I-I want to. Fuck. A lot.”

He can _hear_ Thancred's grin. “You are still so embarrassed,” he says, gently nipping at Ikael’s inner thigh. Ikael lets out a small yelp. “’Tis adorable.”

Ikael’s tail wacks Thancred in the face. He makes an incredibly amusing sound at that, and Ikael finds himself smiling as he uses the pause to reach for his nightstand. He had found a small bottle in here once, he is certain…

Thancred makes the exact same series of repetitive dry spitting noises one makes when one gets a mouthful of fur. “You shed like a dog,” he says as Ikael rifles through the drawer.

“I shed like a miqo’te, you weak-cocked hyur,” Ikael replies reasonably. Ah, there. He pulls out the small, pliable bottle, checking its label.

“‘Anal lubb—lubricant,’” he reads. “That means in the arse, yeah?”

Thancred crawls up the bed. “Yes,” he mutters, frowning at the bottle. “What, did the _Exarch_ leave that there for you?!”

“I think it is complimentary,” Ikael says helpfully, handing it to him.

Thancred glances at the label, where it proudly declares itself to be harcot-scented, and then flips it over, skimming over the back faster than Ikael could ever hope to.

“You had better not be watching us right now, you dirty old pervert,” he mutters in an undertone. Ikael gasps, slapping him on the arm. “Thancred!”

“What! You’ve said yourself you know how he talks about you.”

“Thancred, I can’t bel—” A smile breaks through his scolding, and Ikael fights it badly, shaking his head. He tries again. “Thancred! After ev—everything he’s—”

Laughter bubbles through his lips despite himself, and he holds a hand over his mouth. Thancred chuckles along with him, eyes twinkling.

“Thank you for the lubricant, old man,” he throws at the ceiling, and then holds himself over Ikael, kissing him through his giggles and smiles. Eventually, their mirth dwindles, shifting into something heady and charged. It isn’t too long before Ikael feels Thancred lift his legs, hooking them over his shoulders.

“Just so I can see,” he tells Ikael as he ducks down.

His first finger prods at Ikael gently but insistently, and Ikael finds it easy to relax, easing in both the knowledge that Thancred knows what he’s doing and the fact that his day-long dream of getting fucked into the mattress until it breaks can finally become a reality. Or… _or…_

“Th-Thancred,” he mumbles when Thancred is slowly sliding in a second finger. It joins the motions of the first, gently stretching him.

“Mm?” Thancred's questing fingers brush up against Ikael’s sweet spot, and he jumps, making a startled noise. Thancred's mouth lifts, self-satisfied. He does it again.

“I-I-I want to,” Ikael exhales, then, “A-ah…”

Thancred crooks his fingers, stroking them against Ikael in a repeated motion. Ikael’s breathing hitches at every pass, when they press against his sweet spot for a satisfying second before retreating.

“I want to be on—on top of you,” he stumbles, all in a rush, when Thancred adds a third finger. Thancred makes an interested noise, and then bends down and, completely without warning, closes his mouth over Ikael’s sex.

“I-I— _oh, fuck_ ,” says Ikael, hips stuttering. Thancred hums, licking with a broad swipe of his tongue before sealing his lips over the little nub nestled on the inside. He sucks, hard, and Ikael cries out.

Thancred only seems encouraged by his reaction. His mouth becomes more insistent, pressing closer into Ikael as he laps up what Ikael is sure is a mortifying amount of fluid. Something in those brown eyes sharpens, and then Thancred sucks at that nub again with the same intensity, except he—doesn’t stop this time, and, oh—his fingers suddenly twist into Ikael with a _clear_ purpose, finding their target with ease and driving into it mercilessly, and Ikael really doesn’t know what else he is supposed to do when he arches and comes with a loud cry.

“What… what… What was that for?” he pants as Thancred draws up, extracting his fingers.

“Just because I could.” Thancred's voice is low, gravelly with a certain angle to it that makes Ikael shiver. “And I wanted to.”

Ikael holds onto his shoulders and tugs at him. Thancred does not protest as he is pushed onto his back. He stares up at Ikael with hooded eyes, watching him.

“You—you’re really. Attractive, you know.” Ikael babbles aimlessly as he shifts back, taking a hold of Thancred's cock. He gives it a few long pumps, spreading the lubricant. “I-I-I—we should. Do this again, sometime. When I’m—when I’m not heated. I-it’ll be harder to get me wet! Haha.”

He smiles, a little nervously. Thancred's lips curl, and he says, “I am sure I will not notice.”

Oh. _Oh_. Ikael swallows, throat bobbing. He nods, glancing away—down, that is a good excuse, so _he_ can see what _he’s_ doing. He sinks onto Thancred's cock with a low gasp.

“Ikael.” Thancred's voice is somewhat hoarse. Ikael looks at him, and Thancred reaches out with both hands. Ikael takes them, entwining their fingers, something wanting and anxious flooding him.

“Do not be nervous. Just do whatever makes you feel good,” Thancred breathes, pulling Ikael down to kiss him. Ikael kisses him back, eyes closing. After a long minute, Thancred pushes him up once more.

Ikael rolls his hips, testing how it feels. _Good_ —it feels good. Full. He grinds down at a few different angles, trying to find a good one, and—there! There it is. Ikael squeezes, watching as Thancred's lips part in a quiet gasp.

Ikael has ridden men before. He knows what they like. But he also knows _Thancred_ , and he adores Thancred, he really does. He—he is so grateful to him for this, and he—he—

“I-I just want to say,” he begins as he starts to move.

Something in Thancred's expression dissolves. “Oh,” he says, very softly.

Ikael rocks down, rolling his hips. His hands squeeze Thancred's, and he leans forwards to mouth along his chest. Traces his muscles with his tongue. Sucks on a nipple for a teasing moment.

Thancred's throat bobs. Ikael gently pulls his hands free, untangling them, and slides them up Thancred’s—sweaty, warm, firm—skin. Now he has two hands to touch with, and so he does, slowly and firmly.

He rolls a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and Thancred's hips stutter up into him. Ikael makes a playfully tutting sound, but he smiles through Thancred's stammered—and very confused, it seems—apologies, covering them up with an open-mouthed kiss.

Ikael threads his hands into Thancred's hair and then closes them into fists, and when he pulls back to look at him, Thancred's eyes are wide and dark.

“I really like seeing you be pleasured,” Ikael tells him, soft and sincere. Thancred's throat makes a noise that Ikael can barely hear, even through his open mouth. Ikael sucks on his bottom lip, because it is so red and swollen and pretty, and he cannot help himself. Thancred swallows, tipping his head back.

Ikael mouths down his throat, all the while still moving his hips—he can multitask. He sucks over one of Thancred's tattoos, mapping the area before biting down. Not hard enough to break skin, because he does not know if that is okay—just a small nip.

“Now I can claim you,” he says quietly.

Thancred makes a noise that sounds very much like a moan. Beneath Ikael’s lips, his throat arches. “Please—” he says, and breaks off.

“Can I bite?” Ikael whispers. Thancred nods hastily, and Ikael stops the movement by tightening his fists in his hair warningly. Thancred's eyes widen, but he stills, his only movement the harsh, ragged breathing of his chest.

Ikael bites down, slow but strong. Thancred makes a—noise—and his hands on either side of his head curl, his lashes flutter spasmodically. It is so— _gratifying_ to see him like this, caught off guard and letting himself be _given_ pleasure, accepting everything Ikael is doing and uttering not a word to try and turn the situation around. It fills Ikael’s heart with something light and sweet that he feels is fit to burst out of his chest, so happy does it make him.

“I really want you to come,” he whispers against Thancred's skin. Thancred makes a strangled noise. Ikael kisses him one last time, long and deep—and messy, from Thancred's side—before sitting back on his haunches once more. His knees crack, and he winces, but Thancred, who has his hair plastered to his face and his eyes plastered to _Ikael’s_ face, doesn’t seem to notice.

“Please?” Ikael insists quietly, and then throws his head back, letting his hand drift down to his front to pleasure himself.

It does not take too long, not with Ikael, of course. It is _Thancred_ whom he is listening for, however, _Thancred_ whom he hears utter, “ _Gods_ ,” when Ikael tightens around him in a voice that is utterly, completely wrecked before he jerks up into Ikael erratically, unable to control himself as he reaches completion.

A minute or so passes. Ikael lifts off of Thancred with a somewhat pained expression, not liking the feeling of a softening cock slipping out of him. Then he crawls up to lay against him, and all is well.

Thancred himself has his eyes closed, and when Ikael lays a hand on his chest, he finds his heartbeat racing underneath his skin. But it slowly calms, as does his breathing, and when he finally flicks open his eyes, it is with a small smile.

“I think you’ve ripped my heart from my chest,” he says in a hoarse voice that cracks halfway through. He does not sound upset about it.

Ikael smiles at him, nuzzling against his jaw. “As long as you stay alive without it long enough for me to use you as my fucktoy for my heat,” he teases. Thancred utters a small, breathless laugh at that, but it falls somewhat short of being entirely facetious. Interesting. Ikael will explore that avenue in the morning. Or later tonight, if Thancred's strange hyuran cock still works.

They lay in silence for a few comfortable minutes. Then Thancred says, in a voice that has done most of the job of fixing itself, “We are going to reek like harcot for _bells_.”

“Oh, is that what that is?” Ikael mumbles. He thought he’d smelled something… fruity. “Oh. I’ll tell G’raha to give us a less… pungent enal lubricant next time.”

“Anal,” Thancred mutters absently.

“Hm?” says Ikael.

Thancred breathes in, and then breathes out in a long sigh, ruffling the tips of Ikael’s hair. His eyes begin to close once more.

“Wait,” Ikael says, something Thancred had said much earlier coming back to him. “Ever since I told you that I was in heat? Oh, you’re one of _those_ men, aren’t you?”

Thancred's eyes crack open. “Uh,” he says, “What?”

Ikael gives a little snort. “Maybe I _should_ have gone to G’raha,” he mutters. “Or let that random mystel claim me. Hyur sometimes, I swear…”

Thancred starts to frown. “I don’t know what you’re grumbling about,” he grumbles, “But I… object to those ideas. I find them… objectively… bad.”

“Maybe I can just wear the bunny ears and tail and we can hit all of your fetishes at once,” Ikael complains.

Thancred squints at him. “What,” he says, “the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Ikael shoves his nose at Thancred’s cheek. “Never mind,” he replies. “We can go shopping tomorrow.”

Thancred pats him on the back. “There’s a good miqo’te. Drop the subject. Hey, you _are_ making dinner, right? I am starving.”

Ikael decides, very quickly, that this is a very good time for him to utterly collapse in exhaustion. He can deal with problems like “food” when he wakes up.

“Hey,” Thancred repeats, beginning to shake him. “Hey, Ikael! Don’t you dare.”

Too late. Ikael has already fake fallen asleep. Thancred sighs, loud and long. Then he threads his fingers through Ikael’s hair and settles back against the pillows. He can wait.

~*~


End file.
